


idiots (because that's what they are)

by earliegrey



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, powerbottom!Kagami is lovely, sad attempt at awkward sex I am so very sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2411792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earliegrey/pseuds/earliegrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem is that Kagami wants him. He wants Aomine under him, or on top of him, and his pants get a little tight at the thought of skin sliding against skin and—</p><p>Okay, he needs to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	idiots (because that's what they are)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Earlie again. ^q^ I…I don’t know what to say about this fic besides that it was spawned from the idea of awkward firsts. And knowing how much of an idiot these two really are, I just sort of…went with it.
> 
> Ahhh. ^q^ This is so embarrassing for me ahaha, let me go over to this corner and calm down.
> 
> Anyways, please excuse their characterization if they’re ooc. I always liked writing power bottom!Kagami and I’m aware that some people don’t like it. ^q^
> 
> Okay, anyways. please excuse possible mistakes and typos! And…enjoy?

Sometime in the middle of their second year of high school, they start being something a bit more than friends.

They don’t call it love, or call each other boyfriends, because the word sounds foreign on their tongues and the concept, weird to even think about.

But the change, however minute, doesn’t slip Kagami’s notice during the first few months.

Aomine has gotten a lot more… _considerate_  since affectionate isn’t quite the right word. He stops demanding Kagami for things, gives back as much as he takes, does some of the dishes, and offers to walk Kagami home on the days when basketball practice ends in the late hours of the night.

And then there are the weird little habits that Kagami’s not sure if he could call love either.

Like how Aomine takes him on detours while they walk around the streets, and it’s only when Kagami hears the distant barking of dogs, he’d understand why that is. Or how Aomine pinches the cuff of Kagami’s sleeve and wades through the crowd in front of him, even though they’re both six feet tall and tower over the average Japanese population.

In fact, Kagami thought it annoying the first few weeks, and he says so to Kuroko during one of the rare Aomine-less afternoons. Kuroko only nods, chewing a bit on the straw of his milkshake and says— _“You’re special to Aomine-kun, so he’s cherishing you.”_

 _“Still kind of fucking annoying, though,”_  Kagami reasons because he’s a six foot giant and if someone wants a piece of him—well, he’ll give it to him.

In all honesty though, Kagami doesn’t really care about that. If Aomine wants to hold hands and treat him like a baby, fine. Whatever.

But see, that isn’t really the problem as of late.

The problem is that Kagami wants him.

He wants him in  _other ways_  that doesn’t consist of one-on-ones, watching NBA videos together in the dead of nights, or those quiet meal times. (Which are all very nice and fill his days with some kind of domestic bliss—if you can even call it that— but  _it’s not really enough.)_

He wants Aomine under him, or on top of him, and his pants get a little tight at the thought of skin sliding against skin and—

O _kay,_ he needs to do something about it.

But when Kagami does as much, Aomine flinches back with a sharp hitch in his breath. Sometimes, he’d gently push Kagami away, eyes darting to the side in panic,  _avoidance_ , when Kagami brushes a hand  _there_ , intent as clear as the summer day.

And really—Kagami thinks as he wakes up one morning, half-naked in his boxers with an equally half-naked Aomine sprawled next to him, arms hugging Kagami’s thigh and so dangerously  _close and fucking oblivious_ —it’s been almost a  _year._

Things seriously shouldn’t take this long.

—

So, they’ve kissed a few times before. And Kagami can proudly say it’s more than what he can count on his fingers and toes combined.

But.

Kagami can’t say that they were anything memorable or mind blowing.

Their first kiss was—salty, like a bag of potato chips, because that was when Aomine decided to kiss him, when Kagami was eating potato chips from the snack machine just around the corner of the street court. It wasn’t impressive, just dry and chapped lips on top of his crumb-coated ones, before Aomine pulled back, face red, stuttering an apology because  _shit, that was bad, wasn’t it. Fuck._

The next kiss happened a month later because Kagami realized that since the potato chip incident, Aomine’s  _completely_  given up.

So, Kagami kisses him first and always. They are quick, little pecks but enough to flood Aomine’s face with blushes, much to Kagami’s amusement.

Kagami tried to use his tongue once—because it feels good, feels better than just lips pressing against the other (and Kagami knows this since he’s been around and kissed more people than a normal boy should)—but Aomine jerked back when Kagami licked him, and—promptly fell off the couch.

“ _Kagami, what the fucking hell was that?”_

 _“Um, my tongue?”_  Kagami had asked, watching Aomine rub his lips with the back of his hand. And for a while, it was entertaining to watch Aomine’s face turn different shades of red as realization dawned on him. Kagami asked, balking, _“Wait. Are you a kiss virgin or something?”_

The deep scowl on Aomine’s face told him as much.

—

He sits Kuroko down on another one of those Aomine-less days.

Kuroko probably knows why he’s here, and he tried to misdirect somewhere  _else_ , but Kagami has him chained to the seat by buying him four milkshakes and a burger.

“So,” Kagami starts and rests his chin on his hands. He levels a serious stare with his friend.

“I want to have sex with Aomine—“

Kuroko nearly spits his milkshake but keeps an impeccable composure, as usual. Kagami gives him several seconds to calmly cough into his napkin. And then, “Kagami-kun, these things…please don’t ask me.”

Kagami ignores him and sighs, fidgeting with the empty burger wrappers in front of him.

“Kuroko, I need your help, I feel like Aomine doesn’t—“

By the time Kagami looks back up to the seat across him, he sees a few bills sitting underneath the burger.

The milkshakes are gone.

“God damn it.”

—

There’s a small stack of washed clothes in Kagami’s cabinet that belongs to Aomine.

Among his faded black and blacker-black clothes were articles of color—some blue, some white, maybe a dash of brown too, and it wasn’t until Kagami sleepily pulled a pair of dark blue underwear from his cabinet drawer that he was  _sure_  it wasn’t his and there was no other way it somehow walked itself to his room, to his laundry, unless someone else bought it for him or—it was left behind.

He was left puzzling until one day Aomine came with a blazing blue shirt, and Kagami woke up a few days later fishing out a blazing blue shirt from his laundry.

It’s become something like a regular occurrence now.

After their one-on-one’s, Aomine would come over for a shower. Kagami would then let him borrow his change of clothes as he either stayed the night or bumbled out in his shirt and slacks because his mom will kill him if he isn’t back by ten.

And so, Aomine never returned his clothes. And Kagami doesn’t really mention it to him, and so the pile grew.

And grew.

—

Kagami masturbates, sometimes.

Or rather, always on the nights when Aomine strolls through the door with him after a street court match, arm slung heavy over Kagami’s shoulders, bringing with him that  _smell—_ of dried, sour sweat and deep musk that has to have come from some cheap cologne.

The smell drives Kagami as crazy as the touches, or lack of touches, do and it’s when Aomine’s finally out the door with a change of clothes that Kagami waits several minutes, locks the door, grabs a freshly washed shirt from Aomine’s stack of clothes and— _yeah_.

Maybe once or twice, he entertained the idea of using dirty laundry but it’s not like he’s  _that_  desperate (he really isn’t) and the smell of sweat is kind of gross.

Besides, Kagami likes to wear Aomine’s clothes when he’s not wearing anything else.

Because lately, Aomine’s mom has been getting stricter, something to do with the fact that his grades have been dropping lower, so he’s not allowed to stay the night as often as he used to before.

Kagami likes to feel the loose sleeves against his arms and likes to bury himself in the fading scent of musk. He imagines that Aomine is sleeping beside him like on those not-so lonely nights, and probably,  _maybe_ , doing things,  _other things._

  
Kagami writhes on the sheets, toes curling in when he teases his fingers inside, and his hand grips tightly around the base of his cock, squeezing and stroking, pretending it’s Aomine’s hands or maybe his mouth.

And  _shit,_  he’s so far gone and imagining how Aomine would groan in his ear as he comes—vaguely wondering if it’s that deep animalistic growl like when he plays basketball—and Kagami clenches the collar of his shirt between his teeth, soaking in Aomine’s scent through his nostrils and to his lungs.

The world shivers and spins off kilter for a few dizzying minutes, and he collapses, exhausted, hand slick from the mess he’s made on the sheets.

He’ll need to wash it again, but not right now.

Kagami is tired with a hell lot of frustration that not even masturbation can fix. And like that, in Aomine’s white shirt, he sleeps until the next morning and it’s lather, rinse, repeat.

—

Kagami has something like [ _Operation: Get into Aomine's pants]_ sort of formed in his mind, but really, besides the rough outline of:  _seduce Aomine enough to get in bed with him,_  Kagami doesn’t have anything else to go on.

For one, he has no idea how to seduce Aomine.

The only way to even get that guy’s attention is if he was to grow a pair of z-cup boobs and wiggle in front of him clad in frilly lingerie. There’s that or basketball. But basketball can’t be played indoors, or on a bed, and Kagami’s not really a big fan of exhibitionism and having sex in a park so, maybe not.

The lingerie idea sounds plausible, but after thinking for a while, Kagami has no idea  _where_  to get them and asking Alex or even Kuroko would…not end well.

So, he stews in quiet frustration and concocts stupid plans that involves luring Aomine to his room via gravure magazine and throwing him onto the bed and having his way until no tomorrow.

As for Aomine, he’s still the same as before,  _maybe_ becoming more comfortable around Kagami enough to start holding hands with him and cuddling (though not in public.) But while even  _that_  is a major improvement of some sort, it kind of frustrates Kagami to no end.

Days are crawling into weeks, and weeks to months—and by the time both of them have white hair and saggy skin, nothing would have happened.

Nothing  _can_ happen if they’re both old and crusty like wafer sticks.

And then one day, after what Kagami thinks is twenty-eight years since they’ve started dating (when in actuality has only been about a year and three months,) this happens:

They’re sprawled in the middle of the street court, ball skewed to the side and a bit ways off. Aomine has propped himself up, pulling up his stupid, white shirt to wipe at his face and neck.

Kagami vaguely remembers laughing at it before, at the English gibberish, but now all he can think about is how nice it’d be if that shirt was off and how good it’d feel to slide against him, underneath him, and to have Aomine’s hands touching him, tracing the dips and curves of his body, the skin at his spine, and maybe a bit  _lower._

It’d be good to kiss him now, Kagami thinks, to crush him against the ground in the middle of the street court and just have his way with him—and Aomine would grab at his shirt, maybe just as desperate as he is, hot and hungry, and pull him closer.

“Hey, Kagami.”

The spell is broken, and Aomine throws an empty pocari bottle to the ground. With a grimace, he wipes away a bead of sweat that rolled into his eye. “I’m going to borrow your shower again.”

 _“Um, what—“_  Kagami starts in English, before he coughs at the weird look Aomine gives him. “I mean, sure. Okay.”

“Nice,” Aomine says and grins.

It’s a stupidly, awkward moment when Aomine reaches out and touches him, on the eyebrow, catching a streak of sweat before it gets to his eyes, and  _fuck_ , he’s so close, just a breath away, and Kagami can just  _grab_  him right now.

“Let’s head back.”

Aomine gets on his feet and Kagami curses that he was even a second too late.

—

Tonight will be another one of those nights, where Aomine walks out with another black shirt and Kagami gets a white shirt with a  _[Present for lovable---All Love you!!! Peace & AWESOME]_ printed in black, block letters on the front.

It’s really dumb—Kagami thinks as he changes out of his sweat-soaked clothes.

And it sort of is, both the shirt and this situation.

—

“I’m hungry,” Aomine announces and Kagami is done making a very large dinner portion for one, and blinks up to meet curious, blue eyes glancing at him and the chicken in the frying pan.

Aomine is half-naked, dripping all over the place with a towel on his head, which is doing  _nothing_  to catch the droplets before they hit the floor. He’s wearing one of Kagami’s sweatpants, riding low on his hips and sticking close to his skin, and saunters into the kitchen, bare feet slapping against the floor.

“What are you making.” And he leans up close, hovering over Kagami’s shoulder, smelling like Kagami’s shampoo and soap, fresh apples and cucumbers.

“None for you,” Kagami says and forces his attention back to the pan as he switches the heat off. He can feel the damp puffs of air from Aomine’s hair and skin, and tries not to think about licking the beads of water rolling down his chest.

“Hah, why not?” Aomine pesters and props his chin onto Kagami’s shoulder. It’s sudden enough to surprise him but not enough to visibly startle. “I’m hungry.”

“It’s getting late. Doesn’t your mom want you home by ten like usual?” Kagami asks, half-laughing as he sets aside the plate of chicken and leaves the pan to cool off in the sink.

“My parents aren’t home, so I want to—if I can, stay the night,” Aomine says, offhandedly, and that makes Kagami’s heart skip because this is it, after so long, this is— _no, what are you getting your hopes up for, Bakagami._

Kagami steadies his breathing as he grabs plates and forks, setting them on the counter near the chicken, “Are you kidding me? You didn’t think to ask me earlier?”

“I thought…you wouldn’t mind,” Aomine says. “Because. It’s been a while, I kind of miss your food.”

 _And you don’t miss me?_  Kagami wants to laugh, but then he looks up and Aomine is  _watching_ him, eyes studying him and, his mouth dries up and he forgets how to speak.

Suddenly, he’s aware that Aomine is half-naked, body glowing in the after math of a hot shower; he’s wet, strands of his blue hair curling and dripping water down the nape of his neck.

Then Kagami’s aware of the suffocating proximity between them, at the thoughts that are suddenly swarming his mind, the  _what if I take him now against the counter_  and the  _fuck, if I do that, will he run away?_ —so when Aomine kisses him, Kagami doesn’t blink, doesn’t react.

At all.

Aomine kisses him. His damp hands are on his hips, pulling at the knot of Kagami’s apron at the small of his back, and he  _kisses him._

Kisses Kagami’s mouth, biting and licking at his dry chapped lips, tongue so warm and so wet—Kagami gasps to breathe, not knowing exactly when he started holding his breath, but— _Oh, oh fuck, Aomine’s tongue is actually—_

Kagami breathes again when Aomine draws away; he looks scared, terrified, blue eyes bright while he chews down on his lip.

And it  _irritates_  him. Kagami growls, fisting a bunch of wet hair under his fingers, and pulls him close, again.

The kiss is hard, desperate almost. It makes Kagami shudder and his hand drags through Aomine’s hair and rests at the base of his neck, where there are strands of hair sticking to skin in thin, wet strips; and Aomine’s hands are on his hips, at the bone,  grabbing, painfully bruising like he doesn’t know how else and where else to put them.

Kagami pushes him back, and in a tangle of limbs like a drunken dance, he’s pressing him up against the wall, hands grabbing shirts and skin all over. It’s a sloppy kiss, sharp, and full of teeth clashing against one another. They’re gasping and kissing, mouths slick and warm, and Kagami thinks, the entire room has frozen in time, if just for a moment.

Kagami’s lungs are scalding for air as he breaks contact, stepping away from the dizzying heat in order to  _breathe_.

It hits him full force like a broken dam, the cold air in the room and the way his knees are shaking because how  _long_  has he wanted this moment and  _why_  the hell is Aomine even  _looking_  at him like that?

His eyes are so blue and dark, like the ocean (or even the night sky; like sapphires; and Kagami wants to kick himself for even thinking up some sappy shit like that.) But then Aomine steps forward, forehead touching his, noses almost brushing, and he takes his hand into his, thumbing the inside of his wrist and pressing lightly against the pulse in his veins.

It’s rapid, Kagami notices, and he can hear his own heart beat over the silence in his ears, and he’s sure that Aomine feels the same way.

“Hey, I want to—” Aomine starts, voice raspy and there’s a tremble in his voice. Three seconds of eye contact is all Aomine can handle before he breaks his gaze, letting it drift down. “Fuck,” he curses and then corrects himself. “Kagami, I–“

“Don’t talk,” Kagami snaps and grabs Aomine by the towel around his neck. He drags him close again, his other hand splaying around Aomine’s hips, fingernails pressing into the waistband and marring his skin.

He tries to kiss him, dot his lips along Aomine’s jaw but.

The firm grip on his shoulders is electrifying and  _hurts_  when Aomine holds him an arm’s length away. They share a stuttering breath and something in his gut clenches and probably dies when Aomine swallows and  _shakes_  his head.

“Kagami, I can’t—“

He can’t.

_Can’t…what?_

(Have sex?

Make love? Do whatever sappy shit that most couples do in the first week of being insanely in love with each other or  _what_?

 _Can’t give Kagami what he wants?_ )

“Then…why the fuck are we even doing this,” Kagami mutters, and slaps Aomine’s hand away with enough force that he’s sure his knuckles had also grazed the wall. “Don’t you  _fucking_  joke with me–“

He chokes on air, throat clenching up because Aomine’s doesn’t even  _look_  at him, and how dare he.

“You…” Kagami starts before it hits him like a punch in the gut, like the burn of a revelation and he’s left there, speechless, with one chaotic thought crossing over another.

Maybe—just maybe all this time Aomine’s only seen him as a closer friend and not quite anything yet (or anything at all.) That the kisses, the touches, were all forced and tolerated, and Aomine just didn’t want to turn him down and lose the basketball matches and everything they’ve always been doing.

And so, Kagami was making himself out to be a  _fool_ , believing in this stupid idea of them being lovers (and somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s pretty sure he’s not making any sense, and if Kuroko was here, he’d patiently tell him why, but _fuck that_ , it hurts to even breathe.)

So.

“Maybe, you’re right,” Kagami finally says and looks up, expression smoothed into a bitter smile.

He still feels the anger blooming in his chest and the tremble crawling down his limbs; he feels so fucking  _weak_ but he ignores the lump in his throat, the sting in his eyes, because what the fuck is with  _that_?

Aomine doesn’t move, Kagami’s not even sure if he’s breathing and he doesn’t want to check. Kagami shrugs, looking down and the ground is blurry.

He forces a laugh.

“I can’t do this either. It always felt weird, you know,” (a lie he hopes Aomine doesn’t catch) “—and you’re right. You can’t do it and I can’t either, so maybe we should stop—“

“What,” Aomine finally says, breathless, like the air’s been sucked from his lungs and  _now_  he’s looking, eyes wide. “What are you talking about, stop what?”

“This whole relationship stuff,” Kagami answers and covers his face, trying to wipe it under the guise of a headache; he inhales quietly,  _smooth, keep your voice even._ “Yeah, I mean, we’re both eighteen, we’re going to graduate this winter and maybe we should see other people. Besides, you don’t even know if you like guys—“

There’s a tightening grip on his wrist and when Kagami glances up, Aomine looks—confused. “Wait, what, Kagami, I don’t,” there’s a second when Aomine’s lips tremble and his jaw clenches. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s there to understand, dumbass? I’m saying we should break up,” Kagami grumbles, ignoring the painful stab in his throat. “Love, sex, that sort of dumb sap; if you think about it, I’m muscley, not some girl that you’d want to hold or whatever, so I’m just lying to myself thinking that you’d want to have sex with me or shit like that but—“

“Fuck, of course I want to have sex with you! What else do you think I think about whenever I come over to your place—” Aomine nearly yells, desperation lacing his words. His grip on Kagami’s wrist is tightening and his hand is starting to prickle.”You have  _no idea_  how much I had to endure—“

“Yeah, see, you’re disgusted—” Kagami continues on his train of thought. “Doing it with a—…”

His heart comes to an abrupt stop and the words die on his tongue. He’s confused— _hell_ , confused doesn’t even start explaining this feeling. “Wait. You.  _What?_ “

Aomine has the angriest scowl on his lips and  he glares holes through the floor, eyebrows twitching and Kagami is sure his wrist bone is going to break under Aomine’s killer grip.

“Fuck, I…” He dips his head, forcing words through his teeth.

“To be honest, I want to thrust into you so hard and hear you moan. Every night I’d wonder how that’d sound like, and fuck, I don’t know, I want to kiss you until you’re a shaking mess and I want to make you feel good. I don’t think I’ll even stop when you’re gasping for air and even then I’m going to keep fucking you until you can’t even walk in the morning—god,  _fuck it_ , I get off thinking about you sucking me or me sucking you— _shit_ , there’s all this gay porn with a guy that looks like you, sort of, and I always pretend it’s you instead and I’m studying it, by the way. And I think about it, kitchen sex, shower sex, sex everywhere because that’d be hot, you know? I  _really_  want to do you so bad.But I—what if I—” He sucks in a breath. “I don’t want to break you, and it fucking  _scares_  me because you’re an  _idiot_ , doing things you’re not even aware of, and I just want to jump you all the time and—“

“Um…”

Aomine coughs, and then catches his breath, short and quick.

His gaze flickers, from the floor to Kagami’s face and then his eyes squeeze shut. Dark red singes up his neck and to his ears, he looks like he’s ready to break out of the apartment and dash down the street. “Shit, okay. I didn’t mean to say all that—sorry, just forget what I said but, but I like—I  _like_  you, I like being with you, and I don’t want to. You know…”

Kagami nods stupidly, words still reeling in his mind. “Yeah…”

There’s a long silence and Aomine glances up at him, eyes shaking and  _fuck_ , he looks like he wants to cry. (Kagami wants to punch himself for this.) “So—are you…are you still breaking up with me?”

“I…” Kagami trails, blinking back at him and a trail of wetness drops down his cheek—and shit, he forgot his eyes were full of water. He hastily wipes it away and sniffs, horrified he has snot in his nose,but he laughs, just a bit. “I’m…starting to think about it.”

The  _look_  on Aomine’s face, something between distress and disbelief, makes him smile—god damn it, Kagami thinks, this has been a fucking train wreck from the start, in a stupidly, funny kind of way.

“I’m kidding,” He presses himself against Aomine, letting his head drop against his shoulder. His skin has gone cold from standing under the AC vent for too long, and Kagami is oddly relieved at the cool touch. “Fuck, I thought I was the only one who wanted sex.”

“You did?” Kagami finds it fascinating how he can feel Aomine’s heart against his chest, thumping a mile a minute, and the thought heats his face and pools into a pleasant warmth in his stomach.

He wraps his arms around Aomine, feeling his broad back and sinewy muscles flex under cold skin. He tenses at the warmth, but that only makes Kagami hold him tighter. “No shit. Who’s the idiot now,  _idiot_?”

They both sort of are.

Idiots, and obliviously so.

“So. You’re okay?” Aomine breathes over his ear, still hesitant and low. “If I did all that? Even if I—“

“Mm…yeah,” Kagami says, pulling back just enough to press his mouth against his, eyes hooding, and his face feels hot and Aomine mirrors his look, almost. “But, contrary to your belief, I don’t break easily.”

“Yeah, but—” Aomine says, and Kagami can count every blue eyelash and see the crease of a weak smile in Aomine’s eyes. His fingers finally worked away the knot of Kagami’s apron, and Aomine slips a hand under his shirt, fingers splaying and igniting fire all over. “Let’s go slow—“

Kagami jerks him closer, crushing his lips against his.

“We  _really_  don’t have to _.”_

—

idiots (because that’s what they are)

—

The chicken has probably gone cold, having been left in the middle of the counter top near the stove, but hell does Kagami care because he’s feeling another kind of hunger, one that hasn’t been satisfied for  _months_.

He’s heaving for his breath now, lips red and bruised, and Kagami’s shirt already torn off, tossed to the floor as nails scrape down the expanse of his back, his skin shivering in pleasure at the tingle.

It’s all he ever wanted.

Actually.

Not quite.

“Aomine,” Kagami says, aware of the hand stopping just at the small of his back; it’s been there for a while now, playing with the loops of his jeans. And the first two or so times, Kagami actually thought Aomine was being a tease, but. He pulls himself up, sitting back onto Aomine’s lap.

Aomine looks breathless, completely undone underneath him, eyes hazy and confused at how Kagami pulled away. “It’s  _fine_  to fucking  _touch_  me.”

“What?” It takes several slow seconds for Aomine to gather his bearings to realize Kagami had grabbed his wrists and smacked them right on thighs, guiding them to the front where a wet bulge in his jeans are forming. “But Kagami—“

“I said its fine,” Kagami breathes, voice hoarse and heavy, and  _finally,_ Aomine is touching him—thumb carefully outlining the seams of his zipper, dipping low and pressing underneath, and Kagami’s eyes slide shut as he rolls his hips, the pressure of his palm against his balls is  _amazing_ , and Kagami thinks he could come just by that.

“Your…jeans,” Aomine finally says, quite pathetically.

Kagami notices that Aomine’s other hand had been flicking at the shiny button right below his belt buckle, and Aomine’s eyebrows are scrunched. “How the fuck does your buttons work.”

“Are you shitting me.”

“I’m not,” Aomine offers, looking completely serious as Kagami buries his face into his palms and  _drags_  his fingers down to smooth out the annoyed glare and the need to just outright  _laugh,_ in a maniacal, depressed way.

_Jesus Christ._

“Okay, just wait,” Kagami sighs and he climbs off Aomine, feeling his eyes following him as he stands up from the edge of the bed and just  _strips._

(He’s not feeling generous today so there’s nothing sexy about the way he slips the buckle out from its loops, and just pulls his pants and boxers off in one fell swoop.)

“Wait, wait,  _wait_ ,” Aomine says and the bed creaks under his weight as he clambers to sit up. Kagami stares him down with a weird look as he slides back onto the sheets, pressing himself up against Aomine (who is trying  _not_  to look at the cock hanging heavy between his legs.) “You’re—you’re going too fast. Shit— _I’m_ supposed to take off your pants—“

“Well, fucktard, you’re going too slow,” Kagami grumbles, idly thinking that he could strip Aomine right now and they’d both be naked, in a bed, _together_ —and  _shit_ , now he’s getting red even thinking about it.

(There’s an indignant huff from Aomine somewhere below him that vaguely sounded like,  _“Fine, fine—“_  as Kagami’s overwhelmed by the thoughts of what awkward things can happen and—)

Kagami decides to not think anymore and tunes out the rest of his thoughts, his hand moving to grab at Aomine’s pants. “Okay, your turn to get naked—“

“Kagami, fuck,” Aomine suddenly hisses, and that’s fucking weird Kagami thinks before he notices Aomine’s pants are already  _gone_  (did he take them off himself, when the fuck did that happen) and he’s touching something slick warm and wet—

Oh,  _oh shit_ , Kagami accidentally grabbed his dick—(wait, is it accidental if he meant to touch it?)—and then his thoughts dissolve into something like: fuck, his dick is  _h u g e._

Or huh, it doesn’t feel much different than grabbing his own. For the life of him, he has no idea how the stray thought crossed the neurons in his brain, but for a while, he entertains the idea of making a side by side comparison—

“I know what you’re thinking,” Aomine says, after clearing his throat, and Kagami blinks himself back to earth—to the situation—to the dick-grabbing and the fact that they’re both naked staring at each other’s raging hard-ons, and fuck, if that isn’t embarrassing, he doesn’t know what is. “ _Please don’t_ , you’re gonna make me feel self-conscious.”

“Like I’m already not, you ass,” Kagami bites back, face flaring up.  If Kagami could die right now and return to the point in time just after they decided to tumble into the room, dinner be forgotten, he’d fling himself into death’s waiting arms.

Fuck.

This is all kinds of awkward on so many levels.

“Kagami, can you, uh…let go.” The last part is something like a pained whisper and that’s because Kagami was startled and squeezed him, a bit too roughly. (An understatement, really.) And Kagami jerks his hand away, like he’s been burned by a fire.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

“Let’s,” Aomine says, after taking a long breath. He looks more relaxed, less jumpy than he was first, and Kagami, for once, feels glad at the familiar cocky smile making its way on his lips. “Start again, yeah?”

Kagami takes several gulps of air. “…Right.”

“Good,” Aomine says with that lazy smile of his, and gently pulls Kagami close to him again. Breaths mixing for a second, the kiss is surprisingly chaste. There’s still something awkward with the way Aomine kisses him, tongue hesitant and lips sloppy, but he tries and Kagami lets him taste into his mouth, lick against his tongue as Aomine’s hands skim down his torso, fingers tracing the dips and curves of his ribs. Gravity makes Kagami topple to his back, and the sheets stretch under him, the mattress creaking under their weight.

Kagami grasps at Aomine’s hair, the spikes abnormally soft for their otherwise course look, and his other hand slings around Aomine’s back, as he strains to lift his hips to grind against him, hearing a pleasured moan vibrate down his throat.

It’s slick and hot between them, and Kagami’s hand wraps around their cock, pressing closer, and Aomine swears into his mouth. At least, that’s one thing he did right.

There’s visible effort in the way Aomine draws back just enough to kiss him again on the side of his jaw, wet and swollen lips dragging down Kagami’s neck and pressing into the sharp ridges of his collarbone, soft bites and slick tongue tracing his skin.

The room flickers into darkness as Kagami slides his eyes shut, reveling in the pleasure coursing down his spine because yes, good,  _like that_ —

“You taste salty.”

_Fucking hell._

“Less talking,” Kagami growls, annoyed, before something  _clicks_  in his mind.

Kagami didn’t have a  _bath_ , he just changed out of his clothes.

And back in the states, no one would really care about that, but this is  _Japan_  and they have a ceremony about bath before fucks, and shit, wouldn’t he be screwed if Aomine thought he was dirty and wouldn’t want to—

Kagami breathes deeply and lightly taps him on the shoulder. “Oi.”

The lips on his neck pause before a hot breath cascades down his skin, it makes him shiver just as Aomine slips a hand to the small of his back and  _touches_ , fleeting fingers down the backside of his thighs. “What?”

“Do I…” Kagami groans, staring past Aomine’s broad shoulders, at the ceiling, noticing that the corners are peeling a bit. Aomine pauses for a moment and Kagami catches his breath and evens his voice. “Should I shower?”

There’s a long silence between them, save for deep inhale and exhale on Aomine’s part.

“I’m groping your ass, can’t you fucking read the mood?”

Kagami slowly blinks. “But I didn’t shower.”

“And did I say I cared about that?” Aomine asks, low in his ear, and then he takes Kagami’s earlobe between his tongue and teeth and  _shit_ , that feels good. Kagami shivers, forgetting his thoughts as he leans into the touch.

“Well, I was just thinking—“

“Don’t do that, you need to save your brain cells.”

“Shut up,” Kagami growls, grabbing Aomine’s cock again, pulling roughly at the base and massaging the tip with the palm of his hand. There’s a broken, appreciative gasp in his ear, and that’s hot,  _that’s really hot._

He wants more.

“Hey,” Kagami says, breath heavy and labored, “let’s fuck already. I want to–“

“But it’s our first time. We should take it slow,” Aomine mumbles against his neck, hand teasing along Kagami’s sides before slipping to the front and cupping his cock, Kagami arches into the touch and  _groans_ , (part in frustration because  _come on already, fucking slowpoke_ —)

Aomine pulls back, eyes widening and mouth dropping. “Shit, did I hurt you—“

Kagami cuffs him on the side of his head with a hand.

“Say one more fucking thing and _I swear_   _I’ll rip your dick off._ “

Aomine opens his mouth to argue, but shuts up.

—

There’s lube in the drawer near his bedside, heavily dented (thank god, Aomine doesn’t ask,) and also a skinny roll of toilet paper that he doesn’t show Aomine because that’ll bring up more questions than necessary.

He’s on his back, a pillow cushioning behind his shoulders, legs spread wide apart and to say he’s nervous is  _really_ an understatement, because Aomine is sitting back on his heels, just  _staring_  at the fullness of their cocks, dripping with precum and swelling against one another, and he looks absolutely  _clueless_  as to what to do with his entire hand slicked up with the lube.

“You….you’re actually kind of bad at this.” Kagami laughs, nervousness lacing along the edges, when Aomine slips a finger into Kagami’s ass and _wiggles it_ , not quite sure what to do with it next.

Aomine’s head snaps up to look at him, a scowl on his face. “It’s harder than it looks in the porno, you know.”

Kagami has no idea why it makes him laugh even harder, especially when he has a finger up his ass. “Fucking hell, you  _weren’t_  lying about studying pornos?”

“Tch, shut up—” Aomine flusters, withdrawing his hand. He rests it against the inside of Kagami’s thighs, “As if  _you_ had any experience before, bastard.”

“Yeah, I did. Plenty of it.” Kagami smirks. He’s lying of course, but it’s not a stretch to say that middle school kids in America already  _knew_  about these things well before their Japanese counterparts probably did, and it’s not a lie to say that they’ve even experienced it.

He doesn’t mean to jerk him around, but Aomine looks so shocked, and isn’t that cute.

“I’m kidding but.” Kagami grabs Aomine by the arm and with a yank, he throws him on his back and Kagami straddles him, grabbing the tube buried among the sheets. “I know how to prep at least.”

Aomine stares at him, “What?  _You do?_ “

“Of course, I do. I’m not stupid.”

And Kagami slathers a gratuitous amount on his fingers, coating down his knuckles and Aomine watches him in some sort of morbid fascination before his eyes turn wide like saucers just as Kagami tosses the bottle to the side. “Er, so wait, am I taking it—that’s kind of—I mean, I don’t mind but I need to mentally prepare—“

“The hell are you babbling about,” Kagami mumbles, leaning forward just a bit, pressing his face against Aomine’s chest, as he eases his fingers behind him.

He shudders like how he always does, when his fingers press forward and deep inside; Kagami forgets about breathing, and in the building pleasure that’s hazing his mind, he imagines that it’s like those nights when it’s just him against the cool sheets and Aomine’s scent around him—

He shivers, skin burning at the probing fingers that’s working his insides loose, which wasn’t too hard given that he sort of fantasized about Aomine a bit that very morning—then vaguely, he remembers, Aomine’s actually  _here_ , in front of him, watching him, and that alone makes him gasps, brittle and needy.

“Ah, shit,  _Aomine_ —“

“Um.” The light breath over his bangs makes Kagami stifle a groan. “…Yeah?”

“Your fingers, I want—” he starts, mouth dampening Aomine’s neck just as he slips his hand away and breathes hard. Kagami catches himself and tucks his head into Aomine’s shoulder, a flare of red dashing across his cheeks. “—I can’t reach that far.”

(—he actually can, but it’d be different— _better_  than his own fantasies—if it was Aomine’s fingers in him instead of his own and Kagami really hopes, for once, Aomine’s obliviousness blinds him and he  _doesn’t_  ask.)

“Oh. Right.”

Kagami breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn’t ask.

He feels a hand, not his own, massage the back of his thighs carefully, before fingertips lightly brush past and dip into his entrance; he sucks in a breath–

“Hey, tell me if I’m hurting you, okay, ” Aomine says, voice rough and broken, and Kagami would have told him to shut up but the touch is cool, wet, and  _burns_  so much.

Kagami presses back until he jerks and realizes Aomine easily slid i— knuckles deep— _two fingers._ Kagami’s breath stutters when it slides against the sensitive nerves and—it’s better than what he’s imagined.

His body is flushed in a fever, twitching as an unmistakable warmth spreads from his stomach, leaving his fingers grasping at blankets and hips rutting against Aomine’s in desperate thrusts.

It starts slow, careful and unsure, prodding and probing inside him before establishing a solid rhythm— i _n, out, in—_

Aomine  _crooks_  his fingers, and Kagami curses, biting down at his neck, pinching his skin between his teeth, to keep from gasping and keening.

His hips meet with the thrusts that are scissoring in and out of him, opening him wide and—and  _oh god_ , maybe he shouldn’t have laughed at Aomine and his pornos, because his fingers are slick and rubbing into the  _right_ places, and into that spot that left him whining.

(And he has to admit, it’s  _better_ , not only because it’s Aomine, but becuase Aomine  _knows_  how to do it better—)

Kagami sees flecks of white behind his eyelids and feels his balls drawing up tight; if Aomine keeps stroking him inside and breaking him apart like this, he’d come and—and that’s too fast and not enough, not when he wants something else, something deeper.

“Wait, stop—” Kagami groans, weak and voice raspy. His hands clench at Aomine’s shoulder, nails digging into his muscle. “Stop—“

Aomine slips his fingers out and taking with it some of the burn in the pit of his stomach. Kagami shivers at the loss of contact, at the cold air that is starting to wrap around his body. He hears a whisper against the shell of his ear, panicked. “You all right—“

“ _Aomine_ ,” Kagami hisses in warning again. Momentarily, Aomine freezes underneath him, his breath slowing into an uneven tempo. Kagami presses his cheek against his shoulder, chest heaving—“You need to stop that.”

“What.” He looks wary and a bit miffed, like he’s expecting to be scolded for something he didn’t do. (Which is one of the cockiest and most annoying expressions that can be on Aomine’s face, and Kagami  _hates_  it, hates how stupidly cute it is when Aomine tries to look defiant.)

“The whole thing about asking if I’m all right or not, god damn it,” Kagami says. pushing himself up enough to glare down at him. And in some ways, Kagami’s annoyance is justified. “I’m  _not_  going to split in half. Fuck, you can break me all you want, I don’t care.”

Aomine’s eyes widen just a tad bit in mock surprise, as his lips stretch into a toothy grin. “Maso—“

“Don’t fucking say it.” Kagami says matching Aomine’s grin but with an added layer of threat. “ _And_  don’t move, don’t try anything,” he adds just as Aomine opens his mouth when he takes Aomine’s cock into his hand, thick and warm, slicked up with lube.

“What are you doing—“

Kagami wets his lips, relishing the pleasure that passes over Aomine’s face. “Just shut up and let me handle this.”

He nudges it against his entrance, testing the angle—and for the briefest moment,  _wonders_  if it’s going to fit, if it’ll hurt. The thought flits away when he feels Aomine’s hands cupping his hips, holding him steady, reassuring. Kagami holds his breath against the heat filling him as he sinks down, eyes fluttering shut at the burn—

“Kagami—” Aomine breathes, hands easing over Kagami’s chest, along his sides, gripping his hips and the back of his thighs. Kagami arches, body twitching at the pulsating cock he’s stretched around. “You’re really tight—“

(Yeah. No shit.)

It  _hurts._

Like he’s being pulled and stretched and folded over twice; he’s gasping for air and it feels like his lungs are crushed too. Maybe just two fingers weren’t enough to prepare him for the girth of Aomine’s cock, and he’s not fully in, maybe halfway and—fuck, maybe he should’ve been more patient—

There’s a hand on his face that startles Kagami from his thoughts, and a rough thumb brushes under his eyes, away at the wetness and  _fuck_ , when did he start crying. Aomine is sitting up and has an arm bracing behind Kagami’s back, pulling him close to his torso.

Kagami whimpers, it hurts to move or be moved. “Hey, are you—shit, sorry.” Aomine bites his lips before he kisses Kagami, lightly on his jaw.”You know, if it hurts, we don’t have to—“

“I’m fine,” Kagami seethes, more from frustration that he’s actually thinking about backing out now than actually feeling fine. His ass feels like it’s on fire, but he’s  _not_  going to say that, not ever.

“Stubborn asshole,” Aomine lightly quips, hand drawing soothing circles on the expanse of Kagami’s back.

“Yeah, and you’re fucking it,” Kagami breathes, laughing weakly. He lifts himself shakily, wincing as he felt everything down south scream in some searing pain and cursing under his breath when he finally has everything in, and is so full, and fuck, fuck, fuck, it  _hurts_  so much.

Aomine kisses his chin again, arms resting loosely around Kagami’s waist. “You’re crying.”

“Obviously,” Kagami mutters and drops his head against Aomine’s shoulder, breathing deeply as he tries to adjust. “How the fuck is gay sex supposed to feel like anyways?”

“You’re asking me.” Kagami’s pretty sure Aomine’s eyebrows rose when he said it, even though he’s staring at his neck and at the small beads of sweat gathering at the nape. “I’m kind of convinced you know what you’re doing, at least more than me anyways.”

Aomine shifts just a bit, Kagami squeezes his eyes shut, trying to distract himself from the pain spreading from his abdomen. “Yeah, but  _y_ _ou_ watched the pornos.”

“And I said it’s not as easy as it looks,” Aomine breathes into his ear, but his hands are under Kagami’s thighs, spreading them a bit wider and holding them up. Kagami twitches, skin feverish under his grip, but doesn’t say anything. “Well. If there’s anything. there’s one thing they usually do in this position.”

Kagami takes a deep breath. “And that is…?”

He hears Aomine cough, clear his throat a little, before he says in the most bland way. “…bounce?”

At the answer, Kagami would have snapped Aomine’s neck in half with his arms, if Aomine didn’t just pull him up and suddenly  _thrust_ into him. Kagami blacks out for a second, electricity running through his veins and jolting up his spine—“ _Ahh_ —!”

He digs his nails against Aomine’s shoulder blades, face steaming because what the hell—what the  _fuck_  was that?

Aomine’s laugh in his ear is low; the breath hot and wet. “Er. Too deep? I’ll change that—“

Before he could cuss him out, the bastard  _rolls_  his hips again, pulling Kagami close to him as he thrusts, shallowly,  _slowly,_ enough to make Kagami nearly scream.

He doesn’t, but grabs Aomine by the face and kisses him hard, bruising his lips, so he doesn’t moan and gasp like the shaking mess that he’s starting to become.

Because somehow, this is different, in a scary and almost exciting way, how with each thrust churning in his gut, the searing pain dulls until it’s almost nonexistent and a haze swamps his senses instead, how there’s a heat flickering between his eyes, how his throat is raw and dry from moaning, and—

“Kagami, _Kagami,_  I like you—“

The way how Aomine has his face buried into the curve of Kagami’s shoulder, giving misplaced kisses and soft bites along his neck, and murmuring (stupid, sappy,  _ugh_ ) words that  _thoroughly_  undo him, taking him apart and piecing him back together, like he’s someone that  _matters_ to  _Aomine_.

(And isn’t that funny, because it’s not like Aomine constantly sings his affections for him every day, and this intimacy is dredging these feelings from him, and Kagami _—_ he doesn’t know what to do with that, the vulnerability.)

“Fucking, shut up. I know,  _I know already_ ,” Kagami curses, in between gasps, and shoves Aomine back, into the pillows, clenching his fist into Aomine’s hair, and kisses him.

Rough and all angles, but so messy, and so good.

Kagami settles on his knees, pushing himself up before slamming back down, breath caught in his throat, and body convulsing as Aomine massages his palms into his thighs then curls his fingers around Kagami’s cock, stroking softly in fast, light tugs.

He’s almost there, seeing stars and lungs burning, and absently he wonders if Aomine is there too, basking in the hot pleasure with a coiling warmth in his abdomen, begging for release.

“Hey, I’m going to—” Aomine whispers, brushing a wet, sticky thumb along Kagami’s chin. He doesn’t say anything, but nods, face flushed and skin tingling at the delicious friction, and a few frantic, desperate thrusts has Kagami tightening up violently, hands clambering along Aomine’s arms for purchase, just as he comes, his come spurting out and landing on their torsos in a wet, sticky mess.

The pace slows into something lazier, Kagami’s limp, breathing hard as he rides out the pleasure in his veins as the thick warmth fills him to the brim, from the inside.

He collapses beside Aomine, feeling his heart pounding heavily against his ribs. There’s a sluggisness in how Aomine pulls out of him, and it leaves Kagami feeling bare and suddenly very gross.

Kagami needs a bath, he thinks, but he’s tired, eyelids heavy and this warmth beside him, in him is enough excuse for him to not move off the bed and stumble into the shower just yet.

That and, after a few minutes of Aomine (being pragmatic) and wiping himself and Kagami clean with the dwindling roll of toilet paper in the drawer (which Kagami knows he’s  _fucked_  because Aomine knew it was there somehow), Aomine has taken to flinging his arm around Kagami, content with twisting his legs around his, snuggling with him, and being a little spoon.

“Wasn’t too bad,” Kagami hums into a head full of blue hair, Aomine is lazily mouthing against his neck, not kisses nor licks. “It could’ve been worse.”

“Could’ve done better though,” Aomine adds, and he takes in a breath and—huffs, blowing hot air against his Adam’s apple. “Kagami.”

“Yeah?”

Aomine  _rolls_  right on top of him, still very much naked and hot, trapping him under his weight, face just centimeters. “Shower.”

Kagami makes a face, crossed between annoyance and confusion. “I thought you said you didn’t care about that.”

 “I don’t.” There’s a lopsided grin, boyish and  _too_  enthusiastic for just having finished sex; Kagami’s dead, limbs limp like noodles, he’d chalk it up to Aomine being a normal teenage boy, but Kagami’s forgotten he is one too. “I just want to have shower sex—“

Somehow, Kagami has enough energy to knee Aomine hard in the stomach and  _hurl_  him off the bed and to the floor with a loud thud (and curse.)

“Pervert,” Kagami says, fishing the messy bed sheets back onto the bed.

“Says the person with an almost empty bottle of lube and a toilet paper roll in the drawer,” Aomine retorts with a wolfish smirk, rubbing the sore bones in his shoulder. He rolls back to the bed, resting his chin against the edge of the mattress.

“So, tell me, what exactly do you use toilet paper for—“

Kagami plants a foot on his face and deigns not to answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaa, okay, I’m done writing this piece. It’s rather long for a nsfw fic. If it was unsexy, it was my intention! ^q^ (Sort of. /cries. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. If not, well. I’m sorry, I’ll do my best next time!!
> 
> Until later~
> 
> (//grabs things and packs up to go to Antarctica to live with the penguins.)


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